


Breathe Easy

by sirenightingale



Category: Welcome to the Game (Video Game)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Depression, Eventual Romance, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Serial Killers, Slow Burn, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 01:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14509452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenightingale/pseuds/sirenightingale
Summary: After being labeled a traitor by the one who betrayed him, The Breather finds himself out in the cold by the apartment complex he was stalking just yesterday. Desperate for food and dry clothes, he breaks into the wrong apartment and finds himself staring down a barrel of the gun. However, with shady cults and dangerous deep web lurkers running around, the polish hitman may be exactly what he needs.WARNING! SEVERE SPOILERS FOR WELCOME TO THE GAME 1 & 2! DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SPOILED!





	1. 1-Betrayal

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I noticed there wasn't much out there in terms of writing for Welcome to the Game 1 & 2, so I decided to contribute! I hope you all like it. In case you didn't see the warning in the description, this fanfic contains heavy spoilers for both games, so proceed at your own risk!

      The slap of black combat boots against murky puddles of rainwater only served to remind The Breather that he was out in the open and completely vulnerable. Each footstep seemed as loud as a fire alarm, ringing through the empty streets and echoing off the buildings. He kept his head focused on the path in front of him, but turned his gaze to eye any alleyway he happened to pass. He refused to let his breath quicken. He did not allow his hands, angrily shoved in his pockets, to shake or twitch. He thought, though more surprised than angry at the revelation, that he would be over this after all these years.  
      He wet his lips underneath his mask, debating on whether or not he should take his knife out of his pocket. Sure, it would make it a hell of a lot easier to fight off any attackers, but it also meant appearing visibly disoriented and armed to any innocent passerby he might come across. However, the former quickly won out when he saw a shadow move in the corner of his eye. Whipping around, he yanked the knife from his pocket, tearing his pants in the process, and quickly pointed the tip of his blade towards the offending figure, only to find still air.  
He didn’t know how much time passed, with him standing there on the sidewalk, body braced and knife raised. Slowly, he let his arm fall. The resounding squish of his sleeve meeting his hood startled him. Looking around, he realized it had started raining again, and his clothes were now completely drenched. He sighed, continuing down the sidewalk. His knuckles turned white as they clenched around his knife. The rain would muffle the sound of approaching footsteps, so he had to be extra careful.  
      A flickering streetlight up ahead caught his attention, and, with a start, he realized where he was. This was the apartment building of that reporter guy. Cain or something, he didn’t quite remember. He had spent quite a bit of time in that back alleyway. First hiring that hitman and arranging an apartment for him to camp out in, and then later hiding behind trashcans and in shadows, lying in wait for an unsuspecting reporter.  
      Or, at least, he would have been unsuspecting, if Adam wasn’t such a traitor.  
      Gloved hands struggled to dig nails into his arms in hopes of controlling the seething rage that swept through his body. The first time in a decade he chose to trust somebody, and it turned out just like all the others. He blinks and suddenly he’s in that back alleyway, crouched behind the dumpster just like he was about a day or so ago. But this time, he didn’t have the upper hand. He wasn’t powerful. He wasn’t in control.  
      This time, he was the helpless one.  
      His back hit the brick wall and he put his head in his hands. How could he have been so stupid? How come he never saw it coming? The signs were practically written all over Adam's stupid polished windows, but he chose to ignore every single one. He decided to turn a blind eye and accept the blatant lies that Adam shoved down his throat. Because he trusted him.  
      Bang! Bang! Bang!  
      The back of his head slammed against the wall behind him. Fast and hard, over and over. What was wrong with him?! Why was it that, even now, basic logic seemed to fail under the crushing addiction of blind faith?! He should’ve learned his lesson three times over by now. The rain continued to pour, and he realized just how cold he was. He’d use his phone to check the current temperature, but just turning it on would give Adam and his theatrical troupe wannabes an immediate notification of his location. He might as well run up and down the street screaming, wildly firing a flare gun. The only reason he kept the phone was in hopes he could sell it and try to get his hands on whatever necessities he could afford.  
      The GPS was just another painful reminder of Adam’s obvious manipulation. He had claimed it was for safety purposes.  
      “In case anything happens to you,” He had said so sweetly, looking up at him through dark eyelashes. “This way, we know exactly where everything went down and where to find you.”  
      And he actually ate up that garbage. Ugh.  
      Adjusting his mask a bit, The Breather began to contemplate his situation and consider his options. Right now, all he had was the damp clothes on his back, his knife, and his useless cellphone. He didn’t know the exact temperature, but he had to guess it was somewhere in the low forties. If he stayed out here in this damp hoodie much longer, he would likely fall victim to hypothermia. His stomach cut in just in time to remind him that he hadn’t eaten in over forty-eight hours, either. Currently, things weren’t looking all that good.  
      With a sigh, he turned and looked up at the apartment building behind him. If all he needed was food and clothes…yeah, he could steal that pretty easy. All he had to do was find an empty apartment, sneak in, and grab what he needed. A simple in-and-out job. With most of his choices made for him, he pushed off the wall and snuck over to the front door. Peering in, he was relieved to find the receptionist had gone home for the night and made his way inside.  
After about ten minutes of going from door to door and pressing his ear up against it, he finally found one that was dead quiet on the other side. He waited another five minutes, just to be safe, before trying the doorknob. He hadn’t actually expected that to work, despite entering through the front door being his MO. He wasn’t pursuing a victim, after all, and just figured he’d get in through a window or something if the door was locked. However, the door gave and creaked open, so he stepped inside.  
      He closed the door behind him before flipping the light switch, swiveling around to examine the place. However, he completely froze upon turning and finding himself staring down the barrel of a gun.


	2. 2-The Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you all so much for the feedback. Just a small note for this chapter-some things are said about religion (one in particular) that you may not like. Please keep in mind that this is the opinion I gave to the character, not one that I personally have. Thanks so much, and have fun reading!

      On nights when Lucas didn’t have a hit or other work to busy himself with, he prayed. He’d kneel on the floor and bury his face into his clasped hands, letting reality slip away, even if only for a second. Ironically, when he prayed, he felt as if he didn’t have to face the things that he’d done, but chose to do so anyways. His burdens were not lifted, but rather forgotten for the time being. Only when he was in prayer could he close his eyes and not find the bloodied face of his most recent victim staring back at him. Usually, he’d kneel by the desk, letting his hands and forehead dig into the wood as a sort of punishment for himself. A mockery of atonement, but none the less, it helped him feel better.  
      The small click of rosary beads knocking against each other comforted him. The weight of the cross laid heavy upon his chest whenever he wore it. He always had it on whenever he went out to eliminate a target. Sure, the guilt built daily and constantly stung in his throat and stomach, but if he ever lost sight of the gravity of what he was doing, he would lose what was left of his humanity. That was his last possession, the one thing he refused to give up when he left his old life behind and slowly drowned in his more current choices. He grasped the rosary as if it were his lifeline, and he prayed.  
      He didn’t exactly do this because he believed in God. In fact, he was pretty sure there wasn’t one. After all, if he was real, wouldn’t all this praying have gotten him somewhere by now? Given him a reason to keep going? A sign? A gift? A slight push towards a path of a life far better than the one he was currently living?  
      Anything?  
      But here he was, in the exact same spot he was three years ago when he first started these lengthy prayer sessions. No, he didn’t pray because he believed in God. It wasn’t exactly because it comforted him and gave him a sense of humanity, either, though it definitely helped those two things. It was more because, unlike everything else in his life, praying didn’t have hidden agendas or coat what it wanted in sugary words or manipulative phrases. No, it gave one simple, straightforward command.  
      Get on your knees and humble yourself before all you’ve done.  
      And Lucas, about three years back, had been looking for an excuse to do just that without strengthening the divide between him and the general population. What better way was there than the socially-acceptable religion of catholicism? He let his guilt eat him up from the inside out, and used religion to acknowledge and praise it. He knew that wasn’t exactly how it was supposed to work, but he liked to call it his own version.  
      The other appeal was the preaching of passionate, unwavering love to everyone, something he had never experienced from anybody. He didn’t really think loving somebody perfectly and at all times was physically possible, but he liked the concept of it. So when life became too much to bare, he’d pray. Then, a few hours later, he’d get up off the floor, grab his gun from the entryway table, and head out to rip another poor soul away from their loved ones. If God and his forgiveness really did exist, Lucas was sure he was the last person who deserved it.  
      That night was like any other. He didn’t have any work, so he could spend as much time as he wanted with his rosary and half-fake worship. Or, at least, that’s how things were supposed to go. It had been around two a.m. when he heard the footsteps. Being broken from the concentration of his hour-long session put him in a state of surprise and confusion, but he quickly recovered and made his way to the door.  
      He’d only been in this apartment for about a week, set up by latest client so he could kill some poor sap on the eighth floor. However, whenever he picked the lock and entered his target’s apartment, he’d found all the lights off and the rooms completely silent. The guy never seemed to be home. Lucas had left and come back again five times over the course of one night, but the hit was nowhere to be seen. At exactly four-thirty p.m., he received a text from his employer demanding him to stop all pursuits immediately and return to his apartment. Never one to upset a client, Lucas did so…  
      …And then never heard from said client again.  
      True, twenty-four hours hadn’t even passed, but with a job like his, it all just seemed…off. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to be on guard, and he followed his gut. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure if he was still supposed to be living here at this point, but he had resolved to only leave if he hadn’t heard from his employer in three days, and he was sticking to that. With the first day just finally coming to pass, it seemed that things were already going horribly wrong.  
      The stealthy footsteps grew louder as they approached his door, stopping dead right in front of it. Listening carefully, Lucas heard the sound of clothes rustling against wood, meaning the newcomer had pressed themself against the doorway, listening for him. He didn’t move a muscle, barely even breathing as time slowly ticked by. Finally, the rustling of clothes was heard again, this time moving off of the door. In this moment, Lucas made the split-second decision to allow the newcomer into the room. He had the advantages of surprise and, most likely, better weaponry on his side. Plus, this way, he would be able to get a better idea of what he was up against.  
      Soundlessly, he unlocked the door and stepped to the side of it’s hinges, where the oak door would obstruct the invader’s view of him. Sure enough, the door swung open, coming just shy of hitting him, and the newcomer stepped inside. Damp shoes squished against the carpet, and Lucas internally cringed. The invader flicked on the lights and turned to shut the door behind him. Seeing this opportunity, Lucas quickly shifted out from the cover of the door and stepped behind the stranger, all without alerting him. Lucas raised his gun as the door slammed shut and the man turned back, wide brown eyes becoming impossibly round upon finding himself at the business end of the weapon. Lucas, however, was just as surprised, realizing he knew this man.  
      “…Brian Cowell?”


End file.
